


boy afraid

by sylvainplath



Series: Dimitri/Sylvain Week 2020 [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Childhood Friends, Childhood Memories, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Slow Burn, Truth or Dare, and abusive siblings, courting, ish, kisses...many kisses, mentions of abusive parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:20:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22581661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sylvainplath/pseuds/sylvainplath
Summary: "I do want you," he says. "Let me show you how much."Three times Dimitri and Sylvain kiss each others' hands, and three times they kiss on the mouth.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Series: Dimitri/Sylvain Week 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1620286
Comments: 8
Kudos: 142





	boy afraid

**Author's Note:**

> ok this is super late bc i scrapped my original day 2 for a more sfw one instead bc i wanted to Try it.  
> prompt was hands/mouth, this is both lol. i have more to say tbh but my brain is full of rot rn . also i didn't revise this bc . maybe someday
> 
> PSA the lions SUCK at truth or dare.

Dimitri wobbles on his four year old legs. Sylvain is seven years old, and he trails at the back of their friend group to make sure no one gets left behind. He is the oldest. This is his job. 

Well, not precisely. But he knows that Father insists Miklan follow Sylvain when they are traveling. It’s rarely helped Sylvain, but he understands the principle. Father ahead, the leader, and Miklan behind, the oldest. Sylvain, the youngest and therefore weakest in the center. He tries to set a similar example for himself and his friends. 

Normally Glenn is in front. Today he is not here. Sylvain has to improvise, so he stays in the back as usual. He suggested to Dimitri that as the prince he ought to be the leader, and Dimitri agreed. 

So he should be at the head of the party.

But he’s not.

Sylvain wanted to give him a minute before he said anything, but it’s been several minutes and he still lugs just barely ahead of Sylvain. As the caretaker, it’s Sylvain’s duty to prevent his group from getting hurt. So he knows exactly what to do.

“Everyone!” he shouts in his best impression of his Father’s voice, deep and bold. A little detached, in a way that urges others to listen. It comes out too high pitched and too concerned, but he doesn’t think he’s done too badly.

(Still, he is a Gautier. He is a noble, of the third most important house in Faerghus. Miklan would say; Father would say - “not bad” _is_ bad.)

They’re all so little - Ingrid, Dimitri, Felix. They take everything so seriously, it’s like they’re always trying to play dress up. As a knight, or a pegasus, or a princess. Probably because of that, they all turn around stiffly. 

“Hey guys! I think we should pause for a second and take a look around the woods here. What if we get lost someday? We have to know where we are, right?” 

His gaze sweeps across his friends. Ingrid, who is weighing the validity of his suggestion - she takes knighthood very seriously (she wants to be like Glenn). Felix, who pouts as he considers, before he straightens his back and his lips in a firm line, eyebrows furrowed sternly. Dimitri...nervous. He nods his head, but his eyes flit around the clearing anxiously.

Sylvain is very, very worried. He’s the prince! He’s his friend! He’s a little boy, only four!

He waits for Felix and Ingrid’s focus to shift. Together (in groups, like Glenn and Lord Rodrigue always say), they walk a few yards away, still in vision, to a notable cluster of rotting tree stumps.

“Dimitri, what’s wrong?” Sylvain whispers. Evidently Dimitri doesn’t want his problem shared, and of course Sylvain will respect that. He’s not...no, nevermind. Miklan can’t be as bad as he makes Sylvain feel like it is. Some of it must be Sylvain’s fault.

“Um, nothing!” he whisper-yells. His lower lip wobbles. He’s such a terrible liar, it’s almost adorable. But Dimitri is a prince, and Sylvain isn’t a little boy anymore, so cute is not appropriate. Father hates that word. He doesn’t like fluffy words.

Sylvain puts on his very best disappointed, doting look. His best Lord Rodrigue when he’s being Lord Dad. “You’re having trouble walking!”

Dimitri’s face falls. “I...um, it’s nothing.” He looks down, twiddling his chubby little index fingers. “I just got a - a sc-scratch? I mean, a scrape. It hurts my knee…” 

Sylvain’s heart is probably physically melting. The softness in his heart is a little overwhelming. Some days it’s hard to believe he’ll be the king when he grows up. His hair is all flowing, to his tiny little shoulders. He’s incredibly thin, not in a sickly way, but in a way that makes all his clothes require extra tailoring. Or whatever it’s called. All in all, he looks like a helpless little boy and Sylvain can’t help falling for it.

“Aw, okay. Can I see it, please? I have some first aid supplies, I can wrap it up really quickly!” Sylvain tries to be encouraging. 

“B-but I shouldn’t let a scr-scrape stop me,” he wails. Tears pool in his clear blue eyes and he bites his lip trying to stop them. They fall down his chubby cheeks anyway.

“You didn’t!” Sylvain smiles. “You kept going! I stopped you, ‘cuz I was worried, so let me help you. You can...return the favor someday.”

Dimitri rubs the tears from his eyes. “O-okay…” 

Sylvain wipes his wound clean, and wraps it up tightly in a white gauze bandage. Dimitri is still sniffling, and that’s not okay. Sylvain tries to think of something to make him smile. Something silly, maybe?...

Hm. Father never does anything like this, but...the queen does it for Dimitri, and he’s seen Rodrigue do it for Felix. Something Father would find mournfully indulgent.

A kiss. 

Sylvain quirks his lips up in a tiny, seven year old smirk. 

“Hey, Dimitri?” he asks. 

Dimitri inclines his head far further than the adults do in his curiosity. He’s fun that way, like Sylvain, Dimitri is consumed whole by what he is interested in. “Hm?”

Dimitri is sitting on a snowy log. Sylvain kisses his bandaged knee. He topples off the log. Instinctively, Sylvain rushes to catch him. He can’t have Dimitri coming home covered in scrapes. 

“W-why?!” he splutters.

“Isn’t that what people do? Now you’re all better.”

“Nuh-uh.”

Sylvain has his arms full of prince. He might be tiny, but Sylvain isn’t that big, he can’t carry Dimitri around all day. Also, he’s a little upset Dimitri didn’t like his kiss. Dimitri’s not the type to reject people.

“What can I do, then?” he asks, sincere.

Dimitri smiles shyly. There’s something dangerous in that smile, too, something almost devilish. “Mommy always kisses my _hand_.”

What. 

“Fine. _Hand_ it over,” Sylvain winks. 

Dimitri bursts out laughing. “Sylvain, that is so awful!” 

But he holds out his hand. Sylvain sets Dimitri back down on his log, holding his hand. Solemnly, he kisses the back of Dimitri’s hand. “All better now.” 

Dimitri covers his eyes. 

“Y-yeah,” he stammers.

What a cutie.

* * *

It was Mercedes’ idea. 

She’s terrifying under her exterior. A few too many flirty quips and suddenly she’s smiling serenely, suggesting your entire house huddle in the kitchen after curfew to play party games, knowing perfectly well that this will be your undoing.

So they’re playing truth or dare. Nothing too untoward - she’d never allow any inappropriate renditions of the game when their house is full of school kids. Her suggestion was, if anyone chickens from either their truth or dare, they have to take someone’s stable duties for one day. Sylvain is doubtful that she’ll force anyone to go through with that, but every good game of truth or dare has a punishment involved.

Ingrid currently has a lap full of Felix (she was dared to show off her strength by Mercedes), whose face is beet red in the aftermath of admitting he keeps some of Glenn’s belongings in his dorm room. 

Well, actually, the exact question was “why was that iron spur the professor gave you so important,” but the message was clear. 

Felix looks like he’s about to bury his face in Ingrid’s shoulder out of sheer awkwardness, but he’s too proud for it. Gritting his teeth, he picks Annette.

“Annette. Truth or dare.” Felix spits.

“Hm, dare!” 

Felix dares her to sing a song about swamp beasties, which makes Annette start screaming. Sylvain laughs so hard his stomach hurts when she finally sings her song. She picks Ashe next, and he chooses truth. She asks him something about going off to strange places with Caspar from the Eagles. He turns pink, but there’s really nothing interesting going on there. They’re just raising a cat together. And then Ashe picks him.

“Sylvain, truth or dare?”

“Dare,” he hums.

Ashe scans their circle. “I dare you to...kiss someone you never would normally.”

Uh. Dimitri, definitely. Probably Ingrid, but not because he’s not interested. It’s just that she’s...Ingrid and would kill him. He’d kiss Felix, and while he’s not especially interested in Ashe, he’s not averse. He’d kiss Mercedes and Dedue given a chance. That leaves Dimitri and Annette. Annette is so childlike; despite her brains, he really would rather not kiss her. 

“Aw, but I like everybody!” Sylvain grins.

“That’s disgusting,” Felix scowls.

“Alright then...Your Highness, I’m sorry, but it’s for the dare.” Sylvain turns to face him. He’s next to Dedue, and probably still feeling awkward from Annette telling him to kiss Dedue’s cheek on her first turn. 

If it bothers him that Sylvain picked him, out of everyone in this room, he doesn’t show it. In the light of the fire spell, he can barely see Dimitri’s blush. They both move to the center of their circle.

Dimitri hesitates. “Well, ah...let us -”

Abruptly, Sylvain receives a mouthful of Dimitri. He’s clunky, hitting Sylvain a little too hard and his lips sealed shut. How very Dimitri. It’s endearing. Sylvain holds his shoulders to guide him, molding himself around Dimitri’s neck more comfortably. His hand flits to Dimitri’s jaw, guiding him down enough to loosen his grip. Dimitri’s mouth relaxes then, his lips less stuck. He presses further, boldly, against Sylvain’s lips. Sylvain allows himself just a few more seconds of this soft kiss before he pulls away.

“Not too bad, Your Highness,” he winks.

Dimitri makes an undignified noise, returning to his place. They stare at each other. “Uh. You too. Um!”

Felix snorts. “Well, Sylvain? Your turn.”

Oh. Right. Sylvain clears his throat, chuckles. ‘Iiiingrid, truth or dare?

* * *

Sylvain twirls Girl Number 4, dipping her briefly. He’s getting bored. His plan was to dance with all the Lions, and maybe Claude or Hilda. So far, he’s danced with Mercedes. The song slows, changing. He sees Dedue, and swoops in before he can be denied. Dedue is too tall - there’s no way Sylvain is leading this dance.

“Oh, whoops, my bad!” 

Dedue stares blankly. “Quite.”

He seems unfazed by Sylvain’s antics, but he indulges him in a dance. Sylvain is surprised when Dedue’s dips him, making such intense eye contact it makes his heart race. He’s really got an understated charm to him...any more of it and Sylvain might actually start to stutter. 

When the song ends, Mercedes is nearby, breaking away from Annette. She approaches them in the interim, asking Dedue for a dance, in her usual subdued but confident way. Her bronze gown emphasizes her curves. “May I cut in?” 

As one might expect, Dedue would never refuse. This time, he even seems pleased when she tries to put her hand on his shoulder, but can’t quite because their height difference is so great. Sylvain finds someone else - this time, he manages to snag Claude, who swaps him off to Annette, then Ingrid, then Ashe. 

He considers asking Dorothea for a dance, but when his eyes rove across the ballroom for her dark hair and red dress, she’s doubled over laughing at Ferdinand and Hubert attempting to dance. Now, there’s a sight. They’re not so bad together, surprisingly, but their rampant...tension can be felt across the room.

(Later, he finds out that Ferdinand accused Princess Edelgard’s retainer of being unable to dance, which caused her retainer to be offended for her honor, which then resulted in a challenge dance.)

Finally, he sees Dimitri part from Marianne. Interesting combination, he thinks. One he should keep an eye out for. They’re certainly compatible. Sylvain makes his way over to them, the slightest bit nervous. He’d definitely like to dance with His Highness, but they aren’t really...friends anymore. He doesn’t know what he’d say to him if they were left alone for long.

Well, whatever. He wants to.

To break the ice, buffer the awkwardness with something strange and funny, when he reaches His Highness, he bows. Confused, Dimitri looks over at him. He’s about to say something when Sylvain holds out his hand. 

“Would you do me the honor of dancing with me, Your Highness?”

Dimitri gulps. “Ah - of course, certainly.” He reaches out his hand as well. Sylvain clasps it, brings it to his bent head. Curves his fingers around Dimitri’s and kisses his hand reverently. 

Dimitri’s entire face goes red. There’s practically steam coming from his ears. 

Dimitri leads the dance, and if Sylvain’s cheeks are flushed and his pulse racing by the time it ends, well. What can he say?

* * *

The Professor brings Dimitri back after dark, soaked to the bone in rain, his enormous cloak dripping everywhere he moves. He’s pale as a ghost, hunched in on himself. Privately, Sylvain has been worried for him since he disappeared shortly after Gronder. He comes to greet them when they return to camp. Weary and desolate as he looks...there’s love in his eyes again. In Sylvain’s core, he will always admire Dimitri’s love most. There’s something about the spectrum of his emotions that Sylvain can connect to. Bond with. Feel love for.

“Hey,” he starts. “Come on in, Your Highness. Let me help you with your armor.”

Dimitri looks down at him, all startled and mopey-puppylike. “I -”

“You’ll catch cold if you don’t get those off, Your Highness, c’mon.” 

The world is a boring hum until Dimitri is inside his own tent. Sylvain tries to lead them to his own, but Dimitri says that if they’re going to do this, better to have a prince’s larger tent. Sylvain pulls a worn out cloak from his belongings, drapes it over Dimitri’s head and roughs his hair up until it no longer drips. He unbuckles the clasps on Dimitri’s shoulders, waist and chest; he pulls off the layers of Dimitri’s chest and arm armor. He squeezes his shoulder. 

“Here, take this. It’s cold, you need a shirt.” 

Dimitri puts the dry tunic on while Sylvain loosens the armor around Dimitri’s waste. Once he’s pulled every piece off, he guides Dimitri to his bedroll. They sit on the edge. The air in Dimitri’s tent is thick with Dimitri’s remorse. Thick with Sylvain’s hesitation, with the guilt and time lost between them.

Dimitri clears his throat. “Sylvain, I am so sorry for my behavior. And for you to feel that you had to help me perform such a simple function, I am sincerely sorry. You rely on me so, and yet I disappear and take such abysmal care of myself...It’s despicable. Goi - _oof_.”

Sylvain hugs him. Properly, arms squeezing around his neck, face buried in his shoulders, chests pressed together. He intends to comfort Dimitri, but his own wretched feelings get in the way. His breath hitches, a tightness forms in his throat. His eyes sting. He lets out a grunt.

“Stop this,” his voice quakes. “I’ve been saying this for _so long_ , Dimitri, don’t do things on your own.” 

His tone has taken on a desperate edge. “I’m here, all the lions are here, we want to help you, we want to share your burdens. Dimitri, i-if you’re sad, if you’re hurting, I swear to Sothis I’ll, we’ll, do anything to support you, stop doing this.” 

He knows better, but his body moves without his brain following. He rubs his forehead against Dimitri’s shoulder, cuddling until his face is in Dimitri’s neck, and he warms his own face with his breath when it hits Dimitri’s neck. He should pull back. But Dimitri worries him to death, and if he pulls away now, he’ll definitely cry.

“Sylvain…” Dimitri’s voice is barely louder than a whisper. He is stunned still for a few moments, but he returns to himself and hesitantly wraps Sylvain up in one arm. The tension leaves Sylvain’s body, his posture sagging. Dimitri gains confidence at this, hugging him with both arms, what the fuck, his hugs are so _good_. Sylvain pulls back just a sliver. 

“If you want to make amends, if you want to be someone we can rely on as our king, you have to rely on us as your people.” 

He’s kissing Dimitri’s jaw. The cleft of his chin, the hollows of his cheeks. Dimitri stiffens, but unless he’s asked, he isn’t going to stop. They’re friends, the oldest friends they’ve got. Dimitri rumbles. “Sylvain?”

“Don’t think too much. It’s just hugging. We’re friends, Dimitri, we used to be best friends. It doesn’t mean anything weird, we’re just...being together. Okay?”

Dimitri makes a whining sound. “Alright…”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No…” Dimitri whispers. He kisses Sylvain’s hair, moves down to his forehead. “No.”

They meet in the middle, taste each others’ breath in the humid air between them. Sylvain’s heart races. “It...doesn’t...mean anything, ‘kay?”

Closer. “Mhm.”

Their mouths meet, lips parted wide.

* * *

After the war is finished and the Faerghus troops have gathered at Garreg Mach to take their supplies back to Fhirdiad, King Dimitri requests to meet Sylvain, informally. He says to meet him at sunset outside the Bishop’s quarters. Sylvain trembles with anticipation when he notices the location. That’s awfully close to the Goddess Tower. Things have been different between them lately, their atmosphere together charged. Is it too much to hope that possibly, Dimitri wants to ask him about seeing each other?

All through the afternoon, Sylvain’s flips and flops from nervously excited that Dimitri _might_ and sourly resigned that Dimitri _won’t_. After supper, he goes for a walk to clear his head, ward off sluggishness. When the sun starts to lower in the sky, he makes his way outside the staff buildings, close to the bridge that leads to the Goddess Tower. He fidgets under a tree’s shade, bouncing near a patch of purple flowers. 

“Sylvain,” Dimitri calls out. He approaches wearing no armor. Dressed only in a silk blouse and black, form fitting trousers. Black riding boots that rest under his knees, simple black gloves on. He’s wearing a brand new eyepatch. It’s nothing special, just silky black fabric, meant for days of peace. They can have those now.

“Your Majesty. What’s up?” He stands tall, all signs of his nerves smoothed away. 

Dimitri turns red. “Ah, well, it’s - that is - I mean, w-would you. Care to join me…” he pauses. Licks his lips. “In the Goddess Tower?”

Sylvain’s heart trembles. He grins without meaning to. “Yes, yes. I would.”

They walk briskly across the bridge, up the stairs, Sylvain making small talk along the way. When they reach the top, looking out the windows, the sun is low in the sky. Dimitri clears his throat.

“Sylvain. I...I understand if your answer is no. I remember in school you chose me as the person you least wanted to kiss, so I am deeply sorry if I have misread things. But recently, I have felt that perhaps...you might be interested in me romantically. The way I am interested in you. So...so I want to formally ask…”

He pauses, takes a gulp of air. He gets down on one knee, as is Faerghus tradition. Like Sylvain did in school, he holds out his hand. Sylvain is full of such gleeful happiness he feels slightly nauseous. It really won’t do for him to vomit all over the king. He takes Dimitri’s hand.

Dimitri holds it like jewels. He kisses the back of Sylvain’s hand. It’s a chaste thing, but it is so full of reverence that it feels like more.

“Sylvain Jose Gautier, I asked you here this evening to officially request that you and I begin courting with...with the intent to marry.” Dimitri’s cheeks could light a fire, but he stares unrepentantly at Sylvain. 

Sylvain’s throat sticks. He has to cough and clear it before he can get anything out. He’s shaking. “Yes, Dimitri, let’s...do that.”

But guilt eats at him, guilt from their teen years. Whether Dimitri liked him then or not, and Sylvain thinks not, it must have hurt him to think he was distinctly unwanted.

“I do want you.” he says, voice thick. He takes Dimitri’s ungloved hands in his own, kisses each of his knuckles. “Let me show you how much.” 

* * *

A year later, Sylvain knows that he’s in love. Courting etiquette has been damned, he sleeps in Dimitri’s bed, lives in his quarters. They have a hound, a sweet black cat who adores Dimitri, countless horses. Outside of their home, too, the animals love Dimitri. They are bewitched by his awkward charm. If Sylvain didn’t already love him, this might have made him. 

Dimitri sees healers now. He drinks teas for his peace, for his ghosts. Dedue makes him satchels of herbs for his pillows and work chairs. Mercedes makes him oils to diffuse in his study, sigils to ease the burning heat he sometimes feels in meetings. He still struggles, but he tries, and he succeeds. He’s in such a state now that he feels well enough to turn his own healing experience over on Sylvain. He says, “please, just for me, try this oil. It’s invigorating, sweetheart, I see how sad you get.” 

Sylvain is too smitten to say no, too gratified at the object of his most intense love showing such concern for him, so he tries them. This invigorating blend, it’s not a cure. Often it doesn’t help him at all. But it’s pleasant, and when the time is right, the citrus and bergamot lifts his mood just so. He does like the scent, and now it reminds him of Dimitri, so at the very least, it is something of a comfort to him. He lets Dimitri massage his stiff shoulders and back and rub him with healing lotion. It’s very domestic. Sometimes it makes him cry a little bit, but not often. And always in the little world he shares with Dimitri alone, lights out and Lyra the cat purring by the window. 

In the spirit of reciprocity, and because he just really wants to see Dimitri’s face when he does it, he decides he’ll propose.

Dimitri must travel back to the monastery to meet with Professor Byleth and Claude over borders. King Claude, now. Who knew the guy was from Almyra? As an advisor, Sylvain is coming with him. Felix is to keep an eye on Faerghus in Dimitri’s absence. If the Goddess has any kindness in her, he will come home an engaged man.

Before Dimitri’s meeting with Claude and Byleth (a luncheon. The real meetings aren’t until tomorrow, and Sylvain will be at those), Sylvain sends him off with a kiss. Several kisses. His cheeks, forehead, mouth. That’s usually how he bids Dimitri goodbye, because he’s just...too in love with him not to kiss his entire face all the time.

He says, “Baby, will you meet me by the Goddess Tower tonight?”

The meeting is starting in two minutes. It’s unfair of him to ask such a weighted question when Dimitri is distracted, but if he doesn’t now, he fears he’ll get too nervous. Dimitri blanches. “Sylvain?”

Sylvain kisses the tip of his nose. “Please?”

Dimitri flounders for a few moments before settling on a small smile. “Of course.”

“Mh, thank you. Good luck in there! Love you.” He prances away. 

That evening, they meet at the bridge outside the tower. They kiss for awhile, until the sun is gone and the moon is visible. When they’re inside, Sylvain tells Dimitri to stand still. He gets down on a knee. Holds out his hand again, like those times before.

“Dimitri. I asked you here tonight to -,” he smirks, winks at Dimitri. “- formally ask your hand in marriage.”

The rest of his speech is a blur to him later because something about actually waxing poetic to someone he means it toward is...highly embarrassing. If he has to recall it all again he might die. 

But Dimitri says yes. He cries, and maybe Sylvain cries too. The highlight, though, might be when Dimitri hoists him up by his waist to kiss him deeply. Sylvain has to hook his legs around Dimitri’s waist, tilting his head down to drink every drop of love from Dimitri’s mouth.

He’s a little happy.

**Author's Note:**

> thx for reading comments are appreciated also yell at me @sylvainplath on twt


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